I Must Be Dreaming
by CatatonicVanity
Summary: "We all live (and) we all die (but) that does not begin to justify you!" OneShot; Repost (stupid mistake on my part) Rated M


**A/N:** Alright, so I have no idea where this came from. It's totally random and all, but… I dunno. I liked it well enough.

**A/N2:** So, I realize now that I hit the wrong damn file. So sorry about that.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Death Note or its characters.

**Suggested Listening:** Bleed (I Must Be Dreaming) by Evanescence

Music and gunshots rang through the air, only interrupted with the occasional match strike or curse. Matt was sitting on the couch, elbows resting on his knees with the game controller clutched tightly in his hands. His ever present goggles rested on his face, covering his eyes and tainting the world in glowing orange. Everything was normal, in that crushed cigarette butts flowed out of the ashtray beside him and a soda that had long since gone flat was on the coffee table in front of him.

A rustling of keys failed to meet his ears due to the music he was rocking out to, but he definitely heard the door bang against the wall in the entrance hallway. The redhead cursed internally and froze, immediately sending Sonic off a cliff and ending his game. He heard the heavy steps of boots coming through the living room and felt the piercing glare on his back; the same look that would have paralyzed him if he met it head on.

Then he felt hot breath on his neck and closed his eyes, swallowing with difficulty.

"Hello Matt," a familiar icy voice whispered in his ear. Matt clenched his teeth at the venom in that voice that he'd once cherished and internally braced himself, wiping clean any emotion.

The goggles on his head were ripped away, taking with the rubber strap a few strands of vibrant red hair. A cold hand grabbed the back of his neck and hauled him to his feet, and then a dirty cloth was tied around his head, blinding him to everything around him. Matt jerked away and tried to free himself, only to have his shoulder grabbed and pulled so hard that his feet fell out from under him. He landed on his back on the hardwood floor, gasping for a breath that simply wouldn't come. A snide laugh fell from over him.

"Don't try to get away from me you little shit." The stinging comment was followed up with harsh insults, a typical angry rant degrading Matt and perforated with blows. By the end of his screaming fit, Matt was curled on his side, holding his stomach and coughing. Blood was painted on his pale lips and dripping down onto his cheek. Matt could feel his broken ribs, making every breath and movement painful. Mello only sneered and grabbed Matt by his hair, dragging the redhead to his feet.

Matt's ears perked and he tried to judge where Mello was and where the blows and insults were coming from. He felt every punch with burning accuracy, each more painful than the last. When Mello's fists were bloody and his knuckles were pleasantly burning, he turned to kicks; his feet moved with blinding speed as Mello planted kicks from Matt's torso up to his chin. The pained groans increased with every blow and after a short time, Matt began falling to the ground, unable to withstand the force behind Mello's slim body.

More ribs were broken, his jaw was fractured and Matt was sure he was now missing a tooth. Mello's anger finally died away and he stalked past the body of his past friend, scowling. Matt laid on the floor panting, listening to the shower run and the blonde storm yell and rage. When the shower turned off and the footsteps came closer, Matt squeezed his eyes closed and prayed to a deity he didn't have faith in that Mello was finished for the night. His prayers were answered when the blonde only grabbed some chocolate bars out of the freezer and stomped into the bedroom.

When the bed springs creaked for a while, then stopped shifting, Matt went limp and stretched out, wincing as he did so. Then he forced himself to his hands and knees and crawled into the bathroom, pushing aside the abandoned leather. He crawled to the edge of the bathtub and pulled himself up using the porcelain, limping to the sink and pulling the blindfold off. He forced his eyes up to the mirror and stifled a gasp.

Fuck, he looked horrible. New bruises were blossoming along his jaw line and the swelling told him that it was definitely fractured. His left eye had a bruise blooming around it that was sure to swell it shut and blood was dripping from his lips. He opened his mouth and leaned into the mirror, flicking his tongue along the new gap in his teeth.

Matt pulled his shirt over his head with some difficulty and let his too-big pants fall to the floor, pushing the boxers down to follow. Then he sank into the bathtub and turned the faucets, shivering at the cold blast of water. Then he grabbed a cloth and gently rubbed the blood away, sighing in relief when he was finally clean. Then he turned the water off and fished out a bottle of peroxide, dousing his cuts and bandaging the bleeding ones.

"Fuck, I need more bandages," the gamer murmured to himself, laughing without mirth. "Just goes to show how often this happens…"

Banishing the thought, Matt wrapped his torso and hoped the tight wrappings would set his ribs back in place. Then he stumbled to the kitchen and got a bad of ice from the freezer, placing it on the table and hunching over it, sighing in relief and pain when the cold plastic connected with his cheek and eye.

Of course, he passed it off as the perspiration from the bag when tears began to trickle down his cheeks silently.

…

It was roughly three in the morning. Matt was quiet as he slid onto the bed under the blankets and closed his eyes, falling completely limp on the bed. He turned his head to look at the blonde beauty he shared his life with and mourned, internally cursing whatever made his best and only friend so cold and bitter. He missed the sly, jovial blonde that he'd roomed with at Wammy's. But that person was long gone, had been for years, and wouldn't be coming back.

Without his permission, Matt rose unsteadily and made his way to the kitchen. They didn't have much in the way of dishes or cookware, but they did have a cutlery set. That was the object in the redhead's tunnel vision and the handle of a smooth edged butcher knife was suddenly wrapped in his fingers and lifted from the block.

Matt made his way back to the bedroom, adrenaline pumping through his veins and temporarily making him forget the pain of his numerous injuries. No, now only one goal was in his mind. He straddled the blonde, who sharply jerked away and glared up at Matt.

"The fuck you think you're doing Matt?" Mello barked, lifting his hands to push Matt off of him. With a quick expert swipe, Matt brought the blade around to slice into Mello's forearm, severing the vein and crashing into the bone harshly. Then he cocked his head to the side and brought the blade down to Mello's throat, beginning a harsh line across the fair skin. "You wouldn't kill me Matt!" Mello choked out through the pain, though his voice wavered, as though he didn't believe it himself.

"I wouldn't kill _you_. But I will kill the monster you've become," Matt said in a hollow voice, making Mello's eyes widen in fear. His strength was easily enough to send Matt crashing to the floor, but the blood seeping from his wounds was enough to weaken him. Matt rose unsteadily and watched with deadened eyes as Mello bled out on the dirty white sheets, gasping for air and looking around with a panicked light flaring in his eyes. Mello was dying by his hand, scared and hurt and—

Matt sat bolt upright in his bed. Many months had passed since the beginnings of his horrible dream, a simple recurring nightmare that he was sure would haunt him for the rest of his life. He closed his eyes while he steadied his breathing, then looked over at the blood stained sheets that used to belong to his friend.

Then Matt pulled a pistol out of the bedside drawer; a simple, six shot revolver that he'd looked at every night after that nightmare… that memory. Matt fingered the trigger, several seconds longer than the night before. Then the guilt and pain caught up with him, like every night.

"I shouldn't have killed him… God… Even if he hit me all the time and was so mean to me. I shouldn't have killed him…"

Sobs shook the boy's shoulders and he wrapped his arms around himself, quickly becoming hysterical. When he looked up, there were tears on his cheeks and his eyes were rimmed red. He lifted the gun to his temple with shaky hands, closed his eyes and counted to three.

_-end-_


End file.
